


Foolish choices. Emotional Choices.

by blanketforyourspock



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, D/s, F/M, Guilt, Het, Literally just porn with 0 plot, M/F, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, USS Discovery (Star Trek), Unhealthy Relationships, probably, some D/s vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 03:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14095773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketforyourspock/pseuds/blanketforyourspock
Summary: She is being punished, as was denied to her when Lorca rescued her from the prison ship. She deserves this, she lives for it. Their demons play well with each other.-----------------------------------------Set early in the Discovery timeline, a few months after Michael's arrival.





	Foolish choices. Emotional Choices.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no defense, I just wanted to write some Lorca/ Burnham porn. This is set before the mirror universe events, but after Burnham's arrival on the USS Discovery.

Lorca keeps his private quarters in exceedingly low light. Faint orange strips of OLEDs rim the mirror and the edges of his desk, but otherwise all is darkness. Burnham doesn’t notice any more. She’s been here enough times to deftly navigate the room, and moves on instinct and muscle memory alone.

 

‘You’re late’

 

‘I know’

 

He’s sitting at his desk with his back to her, tapping away at his PADD. After a long minute, he slides it into its cover and spins the chair around to face her.

 

She took the liberty, upon first entering his quarters, of divesting of her starfleet uniform. She stands now before him naked, radiant. Lorca draws a breath in through his teeth and rises from his chair.

 

‘Gods, Burnham’

 

Slowly, maddeningly slowly, he runs his fingertips down the sides of her body. His leather jacket is cold, sharp and jarring against her skin as he leans in closer, and his breath ghosts up and down her neck sending a shiver down her spine. He brings his hands up to cup her breasts, rolling her nipples gently between thumb and forefinger, savouring the quiet whines she makes when he pinches gently. Her mouth is open now and she’s breathing heavily, and Lorca is just a breath away and if she leans in…

 

She is stopped, abruptly, by a hand at the back of her neck, gripping on to the short hair there and anchoring her in place.

 

‘Have you learnt nothing?’

 

His words come out quickly, with force and with anger.

 

‘I am sorry’

 

There is a silence.

 

‘I’m sorry sir’

 

‘Much better’. A small, knowing smirk. ‘Now tell me why you have come here’

 

‘Because you sent for me, sir’

 

The hand on the back of her neck makes a hard massaging motion and Burnham feels her knees get weaker.

 

‘And why do you think I did that, Burnham?’

 

Burnham looks down at her feet, losing her confidence momentarily. Logically, she knew that her defiance on the bridge today was a necessary evil, a small misdemeanor in the face of the consequences of her actions, in the face of saving the landing party. She knows that Lorca understands, but she also knows that Lorca does not tolerate anything less than total respect - and unquestioning compliance. Admitting her defiance will not put her in any real danger; Lorca is not one to yap to the captain, but still she hesitates before she replies.

 

‘Because I disobeyed a direct order on the bridge today sir’

 

‘Mm, and what does that mean?’ His hand on the back of her neck grips tight.

 

‘I… I need to be punished sir’

 

The words are heavy on her tongue and seem to hang in the air between them. Lorca inhales, seemingly breathing them in, and lets the silence drag.

 

After what seems like an age, he removes his hand from the back of Burnhams neck and with one arm, abruptly scoops her up and throws her roughly on to his bed. He carefully sits on the edge of the bed after her, back straight and face focussed.

 

‘Face down, over my knees. Now’

 

He does not need to ask twice. Burnham scrambles to comply with no time to consider the wave of both arousal and shame that has washed over her.

 

When she is in place, face planted into the bed and ass in the air for his viewing pleasure, Lorca takes a moment to drink in the view. He runs his left hand gently up and down her thighs, and squeezes her ass hard. This continues for what Burnham thinks must be hours; he slowly drives her crazy with his caresses and soon she feels one droplet of her wetness run down her thigh onto his dark jeans.

 

Lorca has noticed this too.

 

‘Burnham, are you looking forward to your punishment?’

 

‘No, sir’

 

The first slap comes down hard, fast and with no warning at all. Burnham doesn’t scream, but she does gasp in surprise. It stings but the contact is glorious, and she grinds subconsciously against Lorca’s jeans in anticipation of more to come.

 

‘Are you going to count for me, Burnham?’

 

‘Yes sir. One, sir’

 

Lorca shrugs out of his jacket, leaving just his starfleet issue black t-shirt below.

 

There is a pregnant silence in which Burnham becomes hyper aware of her own breathing, and then his hand comes down again.

‘Two’

 

And again.

 

‘Three’

 

By the twentieth, Burnham is struggling to get the words out, and the heat and pain radiating from her tormented ass is almost overwhelming. Her mind, however, has stopped it’s buzzing. For a few glorious minutes she does not feel the weight of her betrayals, both on the bridge that day and more the fundamental, ongoing guilt that comes with the battle at the binary stars. She is being punished, as was denied to her when Lorca rescued her from the prison ship. She deserves this, she lives for it. Their demons play well with each other.

 

‘Twenty four’

 

Her voice has broken now and small sobs interrupt her counting.

 

‘You’re doing so well Burnham’

 

Lorca’s voice is deep with arousal, dripping with authority and it drives Burnham wild. She grinds once again into Lorca’s jeans, desperate for friction, but finds none. Lorca ignores this, and gently strokes her rounded bottom, savouring the heat radiating from it. ‘Just one more’.

 

Burnham nods.

 

‘Burnham’

 

‘Yes, sir. One more. Thank you.’

 

The last stroke hits at the top of her thighs and this time Burnham does scream. The angle of the blow causes Lorca’s rough jeans to rub against her engorged clit and the sensations are indescribable.

 

When she is with Lorca, she is not the mutineer Michael Burnham, she is an equal. A nobody. A friend. A plaything. And Lorca has an exceptional talent for understanding which one she needs to be at which time.

 

As she lies across Lorca’s knees, she knows that she must look a mess. There is sweat beading at the back of her neck and her ass is likely scarlet with a tapestry of overlapping handprints. She does not care. She is so relaxed, her mind so clear, and she knows that every time she sits down over the next week she will be reminded of Lorca’s forgiveness and his strong hand, in punishment, in support, dragging her out of the dark places her mind takes her.

 

Lorca’s right hand strokes the hair at the back of her neck, and his left hand glides slowly up and down her thighs, bringing her back into the moment. She is still dripping wet from the pleasure and pain torment of the spanking, but she knows better than to ask for more. On some nights, Lorca is generous and on some nights he is not.

 

She sucks in a startled breath when Lorca slips one finger slowly, deliberately into her wet folds. It’s too much and not enough in equal measure and she whines and clenches around him, desperate for more sensation.

 

Lorca removes his finger just as slowly, and pauses with just the tip inside her.

 

‘Tell me what you want, Burnham’

 

The shame of vocalising these desires is illogical, she knows, but still she flushes. She is grateful for the duvet hiding her face.

 

Loraca loves Burnham like this, stuttering her usually composed sentences and completely exposed for his taking. He understands her needs, as his are similar. They understand each other. It works.

 

‘I want you’

 

Silence.

 

‘I want you, sir. I want your fingers, your tongue, whatever you wish to give me Lo-’ she catches herself, ‘sir’.

 

‘Say please, Burnham. Beg me for it.’

 

‘Please, sir, please fuck me, please, use me however you want’ - the sentence starts slowly, and then tumbles all at once from her mouth and her composure is only just holding and Lorca thinks she is beautiful. He presses the ball of his hand to the bulge in his jeans and exhales slowly, willing himself patience.

 

Once more, he inserts one finger.

 

After ten long minutes of teasing, of one finger, and then two, and then a graduation from a slow torturous motion to a hard and frantic, deliberate fucking, finding her g-spot every time, Burnham feels ready to explode. Her breath comes fast and deep and she sees stars behind her eyelids as she squeezes her eyes tightly shut. She is so close, she just needs permission, she just needs a little more…

 

As the warmth gathering in her thighs and spreading out to all corners of her body nears its crescendo, she calls out to him, her voice cracked and desperate.

 

‘Please sir, god, please let me-’ mid sentence this turns to an anguished shout as he removes his hand entirely, taking long breaths and gently stroking the curve of her ass once more.

 

Mutinous is a word that is often applied to Burnham, often whispered just out of earshot around her. As she lies across Lorca’s lap in his darkened quarters, feeling the buttons on his jeans dig into her upper thighs, feeling his gentle hand caress her everywhere except where she needs it most, she thinks perhaps this is what it feels like. Her traitorous body will not obey Lorca’s firm commands-

 

‘Keep still, Burnham’

 

-and she knows that if she moves just a fraction, if she could just gain the small amount of friction rubbing her clit against his jeans would provide…

 

She moves, slowly, a minute grinding action, maybe he won’t notice, maybe-

 

Abruptly, she feels Lorca’s hands around her knees and across her chest. She is rolled onto her back and lifted up by strong arms as Lorca gets up from the bed, something like anger flashing across his face. Burnham does not have time to potest before she is unceremoniously dumped on the floor. Lorca takes two strides across the room and sits in his desk chair once more, turning it around so that his back is to Burnham, who sits on the floor and watches him with regret and uncertainty in her eyes.

 

‘Were my instructions unclear, Burnham?’

 

‘No, sir. I’m sorry, sir’

 

Lorca, facing the wall, pinches the bridge of his nose and wills himself patience. He has been cruel to Burnham, but he has also been cruel to himself. After five long minutes, he decides that he has waited long enough. He needs to feel the hot, slick wetness of Burnhams tongue, needs the rush of power that comes with watching that clever mouth stretch over his cock and those wide eyes fill with tears as he fucks into her willing throat.

 

He spins around again in his chair. Burnham is sat on her knees, her hands by her sides, waiting for him. Lorca feels a rush of pride - he has taught her well and she can maintain her control of she tries. His left hand unbuttons his jeans, and his right hand beckons her over.

 

She crawls towards him, eyes pleading and expectant. She wants desperately to come, but she just as dearly wants to taste his arousal, to drive him as wild as she feels.

 

Now freed from his jeans, his cock is flushed and heavy with beads of precum on the head. Burnham unconsciously licks her lips, and Lorca groans. He places one hand on the back of her head and guides it downwards.

 

There is no time for teasing, no time for Burnham to circle her tongue around the head and lick the underside of the shaft in long, torturous motions. Lorca has been hard since Burnham appeared in his quarters, since the assured ‘Understood, sir’ across the comms when he summoned her.

 

She takes all if him in, the head of his cock brushing against the back of her throat and it’s sinfully good, it’s exquisite, and he’s not going to last.

 

Burnham stretches her mouth around her captains cock, feels it choking her, and savours the expressions that pass across his face. She is dripping wet, and the rhythmic slide into her mouth has he fucks her mouth only serves to make her more desperate. Still sucking enthusiastically on Lorca’s cock she sits back on her heels, trying to rub her clit on her ankle for just a second of friction and-

 

The hand on the back of her neck hauls her up again and is no longer gentle, is pressing her head down hard until her eyes water and she wonders how much longer she can breathe through her nose. Finally, as she swallows around Lorca’s cock he comes, gasping into in the mostly silent room. Hot ejaculate is burning her throat and hot tears are stinging in her eyes and the fire burning between her thighs threatens to consume her; Burnham swallows silently and looks up to Lorca with pleading eyes.

 

Lorca fastens his jeans, stands, and pulls Burnham to her feet. Gently, reverently, he kisses her, before leading her over to lie in the centre of his bed. Burnham raises her arms until her fingertips press against the cool metal headboard above her head and closes her eyes - whatever Lorca wills, she is ready.

 

Fuck, thinks Lorca, shit. He had planned to send Burnham away, to tell her she could finish herself off. That’s what you get for disobeying me, he was going to say, that’s what you get for being desperate, for not being able to wait. He curses his weakness as he looks down at Burnham, spread out on his bed like a gift, like a fucking feast, all gentle curves and sharp angles lit by the dim radiance from his desk. Context, he decides, is for kings.

 

Burnham shrieks is surprise and pleasure as Lorca’s tongue licks bold stripes along her pussy, she’s so close, so close, and if-

 

And then there are no thoughts of ‘if’ as Lorca sucks hard on her clit and she’s coming, she’s screaming or maybe crying, she’s shaking, and she’s done, she’s gone, and all the fight has left her. Burnhams mind is the clearest it has been in a long time, and she fights off sleep as Lorca collapses next to her on the bed with a triumphant smirk.

 

The sleep wins, shortly afterwards, and when she wakes Lorca is gone.

 

She doesn’t dwell on that.


End file.
